


tough to be tender

by radiophile



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Dom Drop, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Resistance Play, Spanking, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiophile/pseuds/radiophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian has been in the mood for a fight all week. Bull gives him what he's looking for, and Dorian learns a thing or two about giving back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tough to be tender

Dorian has been in the mood for a fight all week.

It started small: a snide comment made by a passing soldier, the usual predictable jab at Dorian's homeland and aspersions on his loyalty to the Inquisition. Dorian would have brushed it off on any other occasion, only it had happened on the heels of receiving a letter from that thrice-damned Ponchard. Before Dorian could think of an appropriately cutting retort, the soldier had moved on, laughing.

The frustration simmered in him for the rest of the day, carrying over into the next and reaching a full boil by the third, a string of minor grievances stacking up one atop the other. The wretched library lacking the books he needed, Leliana's Blighted crows making an unholy racket every five minutes, the tavern over-crowded with a sudden influx of conscripts, and everywhere, everywhere in this miserable place too bloody cold.

Worst of all was the fact that the Iron Bull wasn't at Skyhold. The Chargers had been sent to Haven to help rebuild and protect the village, and Bull had decided to join them. At the time, Dorian didn't think anything of it; he could go two weeks without seeing the lummox, surely. They have been... together, for lack of a better word, for going on three months now, and Dorian has long since reconciled with the fact that this is not some ill-advised mistake he continues to make nearly every night. (And some mornings. And the occasional lazy afternoon.) If Dorian were pressed for an answer, he would perhaps admit that he is rather fond of the man for reasons that aren't entirely restricted to the bedroom.

Still, a fortnight apart isn't the end of the world, especially when the _actual_ end of the world looms over them all. Dorian has dealt with his bad moods and restless thoughts just fine on his own, long before the Bull had come along and provided a different means of release. He doesn't need Bull to settle his nerves, surely.

Or so he told himself. Repeatedly, and with less conviction each time, until Bull finally returned to Skyhold earlier that morning. Dorian had waited just long enough for Bull to unpack, bathe, and rest an hour before all but kicking down his door and tackling him to the bed.

Which is how they had ended up here.

"Get off me," Dorian snarls. The words are smothered into the mattress, pillows long since lost in the fray. He twists and squirms beneath Bull's immovable weight, unable to hold back a moan when Bull tightens his grip in response, fingertips pressing bruises into Dorian's hips.

With an effort, Dorian gets his arms under him and pushes himself up onto his elbows, using the leverage to try to shift away. He manages to scramble up the bed, shivering at the feel of Bull's cock slipping out of his well-fucked hole. Dorian knows even as his fingers brush against the headrest that Bull is allowing it, letting him get away just far enough to--

"You're not going anywhere," Bull growls. He reaches up to grab Dorian's shoulder with one hand, the other still clutching Dorian's hip, and pulls. Hard.

Dorian gasps in shock and arousal as he's hauled back like he weighs nothing, his arms knocked out from under him. Bull lays a heavy hand between Dorian's shoulder blades, pinning him flat against the bed. The linen covers are cool against Dorian's heated cheek, and he turns his face to muffle a whine into the mattress as Bull lifts up his hips, angling him just right. The position exaggerates the curve of Dorian's back, tilts his ass up and puts it on display, and for a few seconds Bull just holds him there.

It's perfect.

Dorian is held down against the bed with nothing but Bull's strength to restrain him. Bull had fucked him like this, first with his fingers and then his cock, relentless and steady, knocking Dorian down each time he fought to get away. Just like Dorian had asked. Had demanded, dragging the edge of his teeth along the line of Bull's neck, his words hot against Bull's ear.

_Put me down hard. I'll not make it easy for you._

Bull isn't fucking him now, though, just holding Dorian down, frotting lazily against Dorian's ass without any real intent. Dorian can feel the weight of Bull's cock as it drags across his skin, leaving a wet trail from the oil they had used to open him up, every inch of that thick length fever-hot from being inside him for the better part of an hour. Dorian grits his jaw to stop himself from begging. That's not the game they're playing, not tonight. He won't beg until Bull makes him.

Dorian struggles to get his hands under him again, trying to lift himself up, biceps straining with the effort. But there is no way he can budge without Bull allowing it -- or without Dorian calling the whole thing off and stopping here.

"Brute," he hisses.

Bull puts a little more weight into the hand pressing down on Dorian's back. "That's not your watchword," he says.

It's not the first reminder of the night. Bull has been checking in more than usual, repeatedly giving Dorian an out. The rational part of Dorian knows that Bull is only being considerate, careful never to push too far. But Dorian isn't feeling very rational right now, and every hint sounds like a jibe, an insinuation that he doesn't know what he wants, that he's in over his head. That this is just one more thing he won't be able to see through to the end.

"I wasn't using my fucking watchword," Dorian snaps, frustrated enough to be mean.

"Oh, you _are_ in a mood, aren't you?" Bull huffs. He leans down and nips at the back of Dorian's neck reproachfully, hard enough to sting but not enough to leave a mark. "I'm feeling generous, so I'll let that one go. But don't push it."

The implied threat sends a delicious shiver down Dorian's spine. Maker, he wants Bull to punish him. He wants Bull to take him apart.

"You as empty as you look?" Bull asks. He finally, finally shifts forward, lets the wide head of his cock nudge up against Dorian's slick hole, teasing. "I can feel you clenching. You need something in there, 'Vint?"

The taunt sparks something inside of Dorian, humiliation and anger and helpless arousal all mixed into heady anticipation. He renews his struggling, spitting out a low curse as he tries to close his legs, his excitement spiking when Bull kicks them apart and keeps them spread, setting one knee on the back of Dorian's calf to hold it in place. Before Dorian has a chance to gather himself for another attempt, Bull hitches his hips up and slides back inside with one smooth, steady push. It steals all the breath from Dorian's lungs, the sensation of being filled so suddenly overwhelming all else, just this side of too much.

"That's it," Bull murmurs, settling himself into place with a flex of his hips. Fully seated, his heavy balls are a warm weight against Dorian's ass, and he waits for Dorian to catch his breath and adjust before moving again. He reaches around to palm Dorian's erection, giving it a leisurely stroke and growling appreciatively. "Look how hard you are for me. Yeah, you needed this."

His huge hand engulfs the entire length of Dorian's cock, and Dorian can't help but thrust into the loose grip. Bull makes a low noise and squeezes once, gently, before letting go. Dorian chokes at the loss, his dick bobbing uselessly in midair, aching for release.

"You-- _kaffas_ , you bastard," Dorian gasps. With a vicious twist of his hips, he tries to loosen Bull's hold on him enough to grind into the mattress. It wouldn't take long, Bull has kept him on edge for what feels like an age, all he needs is a bit of friction and--

_Crack._

The sound startles Dorian before he even feels the sharp sting of Bull's slap, glancing off the right cheek of his ass. His entire body jolts from the impact, shocking him into falling perfectly still, his mouth hanging open on a soundless cry.

"You're being particularly bratty tonight," Bull growls. "trying to get yourself off without asking permission. Have you forgotten your manners while I was away?"

 _There it is_ , Dorian thinks wildly. He has been throwing himself at the solid wall of Bull's patience for the last hour, trying desperately to provoke. He twists his head to the side and glares at Bull over his shoulder, baring his teeth. "At least I have manners to begin with, you savage--"

Bull smacks him again, _hard_ , landing squarely over the same spot as before. Dorian cries out, the sound drawn out into a moan as he feels himself tighten around Bull's cock. Two blows laid right atop each other in quick succession: Bull means to bruise him, if Dorian keeps pushing.

"Does that hurt?" Bull asks, sounding almost bored but for his slightly laboured breathing. He palms Dorian's ass over where he had struck and squeezes mercilessly, fingers digging into the heated flesh.

A whimper escapes Dorian despite his best efforts, escalating into a sharp cry when Bull pulls back far enough to slam his hips forward again, fucking deep.

"You've been angling for this harder than usual," Bull says. He punctuates _this_ with a light tap of his fingers against the still-stinging flesh, and Dorian flinches instinctively. Bull laughs softly and rolls his hips, slow, indulgent. "If you want a good spanking, you can always ask me nicely, you know."

Dorian draws in a deep, shaky breath. "Please," he says softly.

Bull rumbles approvingly and rewards him with another deep thrust. "Please what?" he prompts. His hand slides down the length of Dorian's spine in one long caress, soothing. Gentle. Even through the thick haze clouding Dorian's senses, he feels a sweet ache of fondness, unexpected but not entirely unwelcome.

But gentle isn't what Dorian wants or needs right now.

"Please," Dorian clenches his jaw and spits out, "shut up and _fuck me_ , you insufferable beast. If you only mean to tease, I'll go find someone who can give it to me how I like."

Dorian can't see the look on Bull's face, but he feels Bull go tense and still for a moment. Only a moment, but it's enough for Dorian to feel uneasy, his heart beating faster as his thoughts scatter in a hundred directions. Had he pushed too far? What must Bull think of him, spread out like this and begging to be used roughly? Maker, what is wrong with Dorian for wanting such a thing in the first place?

The pleasant haze built up over the last hour starts to crack, and Dorian lifts himself up onto his elbows to look back at Bull, gripped with sudden uncertainty. But before Dorian can turn his head, he feels a firm hold on the back of his neck and finds himself shoved back down. Dorian sobs with naked relief, muffling the sound into the mattress, before turning his face to the side to breathe. He doesn't know if Bull can see the tears in his eyes, but it's not in him to feel any shame right now. Bull squeezes Dorian's nape, huge palm and long fingers wrapping so easily around his neck, and every instinct in Dorian screams at him to fight.

"How _you_ like?" Bull repeats, and Dorian can hear the curl of his lip, the narrowing of his eye. "Is that how you think this works?"

Dorian opens his mouth to reply, but whatever it was he had thought to say is driven clear out of his mind as Bull spanks him again, on the left cheek this time, a hard, stinging blow that makes him shout. Pain and arousal and lingering fear all blend together and Dorian goes out of his mind for a second, thrashing under Bull's weight to free himself. But Bull has him completely trapped, grip unyielding and his bulk immovable. All Dorian can do is squirm on Bull's cock, his face pressed firmly into the mattress.

"You don't give orders to me here," Bull continues, his voice gone hard and low. "I'll fuck you how I like, if I decide to fuck you at all. The way you've been acting -- insulting me, trying to piss me off -- what do you think you deserve right now?"

Dorian is still struggling, mindlessly, no real thought given to his movements but his body refusing to stay still. He knows Bull would never truly hurt him, he knows he is safe and this is what he wants, what he needs. But there's a giant qunari pressing him to the bed, a thick cock in his ass and a heavy hand wrapped around his neck, squeezing tight enough for him to feel his pulse pounding against the callused flesh. There's no room for rational thought right now, a bitter taste in his mouth, blood rushing in his ears. He needs to fight, he needs to get out, he can't do this--

"Watchword," Bull orders. He's not bothering with hints anymore.

The reminder snatches Dorian back from the brink of panic. He starts to protest, "I know it, you don't need to--"

"I decide what's needed," Bull cuts in. "Tell me. I'm not asking."

"My watchword is _katoh_ ," Dorian grits out. "Are you quite satisfied, you miserable--"

Bull pulls out and the rest of Dorian's backtalk evaporates with a winded gasp. Dorian barely has time to adjust to the shock of emptiness before the first blow lands across his ass. Bull doesn't stop to let Dorian catch his breath, raining down heavy, stinging slaps in an almost mechanical rhythm, alternating sides at random. His other hand keeps its grip on the back of Dorian's neck, squeezing tight and pressing down with every attempt Dorian makes to resist.

Distantly, Dorian can hear himself shouting, cursing, can feel his muscles aching as he strains to fight against Bull's hold. He doesn't know how long he struggles, but he can feel his breaking point rushing towards him. He's gasping with every breath, flinching violently with each blow. Every time he thinks _this is the last one, surely, Bull's hand must be hurting by now_ , the pause lasts just long enough for him to hope it's over before Bull's palm comes cracking down again.

"You keep fighting, I keep hitting," Bull says, at long last. He spanks Dorian as he talks, swatting at each cheek almost casually, as if he could do it forever. "You think you can overpower me, Dorian? Or do you think I'll give up if you hold out long enough?"

He stops to let Dorian answer, and Dorian can't quite hold back his sob of relief. His ass feels like it's on fire, prickling in the cool air and throbbing, layer upon layer of searing marks.

"You can keep fighting me if you want," Bull murmurs. He lays his hand over Dorian's ass, strokes the heated skin and rubs gentle circles over the ache. "As long as you need. But if you want this to stop, you know what to do."

Dorian feels himself shudder, a full-bodied thing that bleeds all the tension out of him and leaves him limp and trembling. He closes his eyes and finally, finally lets himself go.

Submission had always been synonymous with weakness and defeat for Dorian. But with Bull, the act has transformed into a state of mind, a safe haven where he can enter and leave without fear. This is a place only Bull can take him, a place where he doesn't have to worry about anything. Where he doesn't have to fight.

"Mercy," Dorian sobs. His voice is hoarse from his cries. "Please, Bull, mercy. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"

"Hush," Bull says. It's quiet but it's an order, and Dorian falls silent at once. Bull gives Dorian another caress, one long stroke from lower back to thigh. "Settle down. There's a good boy."

Such simple reassurance, but those words never fail to soothe Dorian. He draws in a deep breath to steady himself and hears it hitch with a few lingering sobs. Bull shushes him again, squeezing the back of Dorian's neck gently.

"Took quite a beating, didn't you?" Bull says, and there's something like pride in his voice. It warms Dorian to hear it. "Are you done fighting now?"

Dorian nods, then adds a soft "Yes" in case it isn't answer enough.

Bull runs the back of his hand along Dorian's ass, rough knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin. "And am I done punishing you?" he asks.

Dorian shivers, but does not shy away from either touch or word. "You decide what's needed," he says, echoing Bull's earlier statement.

Bull makes a stifled sound, half-formed in his throat, and drops down to place a swift kiss to Dorian's shoulder. "Good boy." He breathes the words into Dorian's skin and presses another kiss over them, as if to seal the praise there.

"Please," Dorian whimpers. "Please."

"What are you asking me for, Dorian?"

"Fuck me, please," Dorian begs, and feels no shame. He can want it, and Bull will give it to him if he needs it. He can have this and love it and all of it can be okay.

"You think after all that, I'm still going to give you my cock?" Bull asks, squeezing a handful of Dorian's ass to punctuate the warning.

Dorian cries out but doesn't resist, every instinct to fight or flee long since silenced. Instead, Dorian arches his back and tilts his ass up into Bull's hand. He hears Bull exhale sharply at that, and dares to spread his legs a little, an offer and surrender both.

"Please," Dorian says, and starts babbling, "I don't deserve it but I need it, I want to be good for you, please, I missed you so much." The last slips out, unbidden, but he's too far gone to feel embarrassed by the admission. He feels the truth of it as he hears his own words, whispers a second time, "I missed you."

Bull makes a low, wounded noise and crowds up behind Dorian, guides his cock with one hand and mounts him without further pause. They both groan in relief as he sinks into Dorian with one long, ceaseless push until he's buried to the hilt. Bull keeps his hand on Dorian's neck through it all, his grip no longer restrictive, but steadying.

"I missed you, too," he pants into Dorian's ear. "And you are good, Dorian, so good for me. You fought so hard for so long, but you're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes," Dorian gasps without thought. In his current state, he's conditioned to give an answer whenever a question is asked of him, even if it seems redundant.

Something ripples through Bull, a fine tremor that Dorian can feel everywhere. In the next instant, he finds himself lifted clear off the bed, one of Bull's arms wrapped solidly around his middle to support his weight. Dorian gasps at the sudden shift, fingers groping blindly at thin air.

"Put your hands on top of the headboard," Bull orders.

Dorian opens his eyes -- how long had he kept them closed? -- and sees the sturdy headboard built into the heavy frame of Bull's bed within arm's reach. He places his hands atop the thick wood, his movements clumsy and slow. His thoughts clear enough for him to take note of their position: Bull sitting up on his knees, Dorian straddling his lap, stretched out nearly horizontal to the bed as he clings to the headboard.

"I want you to hang on tight," Bull says. He loosens his grip around Dorian's waist, lowering his arm slightly to test the give. "Can you hold yourself up like this?"

"I... Yes," Dorian says, unsure yet unwilling to disappoint. But he's not supposed to lie, so he amends, "I think so."

"It's okay if you can't. I can hold you up and still fuck you." His breath is hot against Dorian's nape, ruffling his hair. He nips the back of Dorian's neck again, his tongue swiping hot over the bite. "I've got you, Dorian. All you have to do is take it. I'm not letting you fall."

Dorian shivers at the words and goes boneless, lets his head drop between his shoulders and feels Bull take his weight. He hangs suspended between the headboard and Bull's lap, his arms stretched up over his head, right hand gripping the left wrist in self-imposed restraint. Bull lays a broad palm over both of Dorian's hands, covering them completely, holding them in place. His other arm is wrapped around Dorian's middle, supporting him easily. Bull's enormous bulk is curled over Dorian, enveloping him, warm and solid and safe. 

_All you have to do is take it,_ Bull had said, and he has never yet gone back on a promise. He fucks Dorian just this side of too hard, deep and fast and ceaseless. The bed slams against the wall from the force of Bull's thrusts, wood creaking under the strain. Every inch of Dorian is lit up with sensation, pleasure-pain white hot and searing from top to toes, a bone-deep ache at the very core of him, almost too good to bear.

His body is a ruin, but Dorian's mind is blissfully blank, his thoughts quiet and calm for the first time since-- since the last time Bull had touched him, really. The realization should terrify him, Dorian is distantly aware, but right now it only seems right.

"May I," he sobs, too soon -- not soon enough -- if he doesn't right now he'll die -- but he can't, not until Bull allows -- "may I... please."

"Go on," Bull growls. His scarred lips brush against the tender skin of Dorian's nape. "You can let go."

Dorian's release is an undoing. Weeks of built up tension, anger, resentment -- every bitter thought from every harried moment -- all of it at once seems to rush out from him. He feels the harsh strain in his throat before he hears the shouts causing it, too senseless to stop himself. It lasts a minute, or an hour, or a second; Dorian has no way of telling. When it's over, he collapses in Bull's arms, limp and useless, mouth wide open as he sobs for breath.

He shivers and gives a weak moan when Bull withdraws. Every part of him aches, but in the way Dorian associates with a particularly good, hard fuck. He will be feeling Bull for days, and the thought makes him whimper. He feels himself being lowered carefully back onto the mattress, his body sinking into the bed, face first. Dorian starts to roll onto his back and winces, the deep bruises in his ass making themselves known. Reconsidering his options, Dorian stays put, letting out a soft sigh. _Worth it._

"Dorian," Bull murmurs. "You with me?"

"Yes, very much so," Dorian says, quick to reassure. He knows what Bull is really asking. Blindly, he reaches a hand behind him to press his palm against Bull's flank. He's exhausted, but the thought of Bull ending the night unsatisfied does not sit well with him. "Don't stop on my account, please. I'd have you finish in me."

Under Dorian's hand, Bull goes rigid for a moment. And if Dorian hadn't felt it, he might not have thought twice at Bull's reply.

"I'm good," Bull says easily. "I think we're done tonight."

It's not unheard of for Bull to forego his own pleasure to tend to Dorian -- in fact, Dorian can think of several occasions off the top of his head with ease. But tonight, of all nights, Dorian does not want Bull to imagine he is too fragile to handle a little more.

The sheets are starting to feel unpleasantly damp and tacky against Dorian's skin, and it only adds to his frustration as he twists to glare at Bull over his shoulder.

" _Fasta vass_ , I'm not going to break," Dorian protests. He shifts to lie on his side, facing Bull and readying himself to further argue the matter.

Then he sees the look on Bull's face.

Dorian remembers a time -- not so very long ago as he would like -- when he had considered all qunari to be unfeeling. Tevinter propaganda depicted them as emotionless brutes, and Dorian had been taken aback the first time he met Bull, vibrant and laughing and so unlike those stoic caricatures. It has been over a year since then, and Dorian has become intimately familiar with Bull's face, its myriad expressions and their corresponding meanings. A quirk of an eyebrow, a sly grin, a subtle tip of the chin -- Dorian has had extended conversations with Bull in crowded taverns without a single word exchanged between them.

But right now, Dorian can't read the look on Bull's face. His expression is shuttered, completely impassive save a slight furrow between his brows. It deeply alarms Dorian, to look at Bull and hardly recognize him.

"Bull," Dorian ventures, cautious.

For a long moment, Bull says nothing. Then, without warning, he lays a heavy hand over Dorian's ass and squeezes.

Dorian yelps, slapping Bull's arm away and curling in on himself instinctively, knees drawn up to his chest. It had been more startling than painful, but he half sits up, resting his weight on one arm, to shoot Bull an aggrieved look. But Bull has already withdrawn, sitting back on his heels to give Dorian space, his hands resting in his lap with palms upturned. His broad shoulders are hunched, head bowed as if to make himself smaller. The inscrutable expression on his face breaks, and for a split second Bull looks so wretched that Dorian instantly forgets any of his own discomforts.

"What I just did to you--" Bull cuts himself off, a muscle in his jaw jumping into sharp relief as he clenches his teeth, breathing deep as he finds the right words. "You do break. And I'm the one that breaks you."

Dorian doesn't know how to answer. Bull has been rougher with him in the past -- has used restraints and tools far harsher than an open hand -- but he has never reacted this way afterward. Dorian's first instinct is to point this out, but for once better judgment stays him from speaking thoughtlessly. Instead, he keeps searching Bull's face for clues. Bull is avoiding eye contact, holding Dorian's gaze for a moment before looking away, the furrow between his brows deepening. And just like that, Dorian knows what emotion Bull is hiding.

Dorian has a long-standing history with shame, after all.

"Bull," Dorian says again, softly.

"I hurt you," Bull says.

"Never once without my asking for it," Dorian says, immediate and firm. He kneels on the bed and closes the gap between them, places his hands atop Bull's, palm to palm. It's easy for Dorian to ignore his own body's aches and pains; they are physical, and caused with great deliberation and purpose at his request. The same cannot be said for what he has done to Bull.

Bull's fingers close slowly around Dorian's in a loose grip. He looks down at their joined hands, then up at Dorian.

"Fuck," he laughs humourlessly. He blinks a few too many times, eye overbright. "I'm sorry, this is stupid."

"Don't apologize to me," Dorian says, perhaps a touch too forcefully. He squeezes Bull's hands, then shuffles in closer to wrap his arms around Bull's neck, putting their faces too close together for Bull to avoid his gaze. Gentler this time, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"You shouldn't have to-- I should be--"

" _Amatus_ ," Dorian interrupts, the endearment slipping out with such ease he would later realize he has been thinking of Bull this way for weeks, "I would never endure anything I did not like, and you have never made me feel anything but safe and well cared for."

Dorian can feel a slight tremor running through Bull, sees the desperate look in his eye and recognizes the same longing for reassurance Dorian so often craves after a particularly rough session. Bull has never failed to provide exactly what Dorian needed: warmth, touch, gentle words -- a perfect example for Dorian to follow in turn.

Instinctively, Dorian moves to guide Bull by his shoulders to lie back on the bed. It never ceases to amaze Dorian, even after all this time, how much _bigger_ Bull is. The sheer bulk of him, the strength and mass, the incredible control it takes to wield it all with such care. But right now, Bull lets himself be moved easily, arranging his limbs and shifting his weight at the barest touch of Dorian's hand.

Once Bull is settled into the pillows, Dorian simply climbs atop him and lays himself out like a blanket, pulling a quilt over them both for good measure. Bull's arms instantly move to wrap around Dorian's waist, as if by instinct, and Dorian nestles himself comfortably on Bull's chest.

This is good. Full body contact -- oh, alright, _cuddling_ \-- after sex was one of those things Dorian had never thought he'd willingly partake in, much less yearn for. But it never fails to ground him when he needs it after floating high on submission, and he is starting to realize now it was never only for his sole benefit.

"I'm the one that's sorry," Dorian says, finally. He reaches up to stroke Bull's face, tracing the lines and scars that have become so familiar to him. "I should have known you were not in the mood for this sort of thing." 

Looking back on it now, Bull's reluctance is so painfully obvious. The repeated checking in, the moments of lingering tenderness... Bull had practically begged Dorian to stop, in his own way.

"I enjoyed it," Bull says.

"I should hope so, but that's not the point," Dorian says. "You didn't truly want this, did you? Not tonight, not after so long apart. But I didn't stop to consider your feelings at all."

"You needed this," Bull says. He squeezes Dorian gently, reigniting dull aches.

Dorian shivers in Bull's grip, biting back a moan. "Don't distract me," he rebukes. It draws a little grin from Bull, and Dorian nearly sags with relief at the sight. "You always give me what I need, _amatus_. Let me return the favour."

Bull considers him for a moment, lips still curved in a soft smile. "That's the second time you've called me that."

Dorian sniffs. "Yes, well, we both know you speak enough Tevene to know what it means, so let's move on."

"Move on to my needs?"

"Exactly." Dorian points a finger at Bull's face, his tone imperious. "You will tell me, The Iron Bull, what it is exactly that was going through your mind earlier, and what you need from me to reassure you that I have never once felt mistreated by you."

Bull's smile grows wider, and he tips his face forward a little so Dorian's finger bumps up against his nose. Dorian frowns and tweaks it, rolling his eyes at the laugh it draws, even as the sound warms his heart.

"I'm being serious," Dorian says.

"I know," Bull replies, and his expression is suddenly far too fond for Dorian to deal with. "And it's helping. This -- holding you, hearing you say those things, the look on your face right now -- it's what I need."

"My face is helpful, how good to hear," Dorian says, because he doesn't know how to address any of the rest it.

"Mm, it's a good face," Bull says.

"Naturally."

Bull chuckles and leans up to peck Dorian on the cheek, effortlessly affectionate. "Can I get up for a second?"

"What for?" Dorian asks, reluctant to stop touching Bull just yet.

"I want to get some water and poultices to take care of that ass," Bull says. He raises an eyebrow cheekily. "It's a good ass."

"As helpful as my good face?" Dorian snorts.

"If not more so," Bull nods.

"You know I can heal myself in a thrice, don't you?" Dorian points out. "I may be a little tired just at present but it wouldn't overtax me to perform a simple healing spell."

He means to say that Bull needn't worry about him. They are in this position, after all, because Dorian wants to comfort Bull for a change. But Bull falls silent for a moment, uncharacteristically solemn once more.

"You have to allow me to do this." Quiet, firm. "Do you understand why?"

Dorian thinks he is starting to, at long last, but shakes his head. He wants to hear it defined, this thing between them that's somehow become so integral to his life. "Tell me."

"You let me take you apart, because it's what you need," Bull says. "What I need is for you to let me put you together again."

Bull reaches for Dorian's hand and pulls it up to press a kiss to Dorian's wrist, right over the pulse. The gesture is so exceedingly sentimental and ridiculous, and Dorian finds himself undone by it completely. He unfurls his fingers to cup Bull's cheek, brushing his thumb across a jagged scar.

 _Maker_ , he thinks, resigned. _I love him._

Bull leans his face into Dorian's hand, reaching up to mirror him. Bull's huge palm is thick-skinned and rough with calluses; two of his fingers end abruptly in scarred stumps. He has the gentlest hands Dorian has ever known. 

"Oh, go on, then," Dorian manages to say. He means to sound unaffected, but Bull is smiling and Dorian feels himself smiling back. "Do your worst."

end.

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO YES I AM STILL HERE! The past year has been a whirlwind of Major Life Changes, and while exciting and wonderful, the one major drawback is I've been unable to keep up with reading/writing fic the way I used to ;_; But it makes me so, so happy to see just how big the Dorian/Bull fandom has grown ♥ (Honestly, after Trespasser, I feel like... we've made it, kids. High fives all around.)
> 
> I started this fic nearly a year ago and have been picking away at it slooowly every few months, so tbh at this point I just want it out of my hands lmao. It's unbeta'd, but I have to give special thanks to [paperiuni](http://archiveofourown.org/users/paperiuni/pseuds/paperiuni) for patiently reading sporadic excerpts as I wrote them and offering continuous encouragement ♥


End file.
